


Diner Food

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: romancingmcshep, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The diner was quiet, this late at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diner Food

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "romancingmcshep" 2014 challenge

The diner was quiet, this late at night. The only people there were two men at the counter— a truck driver from Newark, New Jersey, and the other a semi-regular, a businessman who did some kind of overseas investment work and thought two AM was lunchtime— so Ellen could leave the TV to the political analysis station, and pick up ideas for her civics class between coffee refills.

Out the window, she saw a car pull into the parking lot, a cherry red convertible with the top down. The doors opened and two people got out, not the middle-aged guy or rich young couple that Ellen had been expecting, but two older men, and she watched them walk inside. They were probably about her grandfather’s age, senior citizens but not quite ‘elderly’ yet. The guy who’d been driving was slim and looked like he was in really good shape for his age, with completely-white hair that looked like it had never seen a comb. The other guy was shorter and a bit broader, with much less hair and a knitted cardigan sweater, despite the summer weather. The shorter man walked with a cane, not like he was used to it, but more like Ellen’s Uncle Peter had done after his knee surgery, and the first guy kept pace like he wasn’t even trying to.

Ellen lost sight of them as they came around the corner of the building. The taller guy held open the door for his companion, who didn’t seem to notice, still talking like he had been since they’d gotten out of the car, hands waving, “…useless, every one of them. Do you know that one of them forgot to account for gravity in their equations? _Gravity_!”

“Where do you want to sit, Rodney?” the other man asked, smiling. The sign inside the door said they could seat themselves.

“What? Oh, anywhere…”

The white-haired guy chose a booth near the back, close to the counter, and they sat across from each other. Ellen grabbed two menus and went over, “Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“Coffee,” said the guy in the cardigan. “Black, and plenty of it.”

“Two coffees,” the other man agreed. “One with cream and sugar.”

“Coming right up,” said Ellen, and he flashed a smile at her.

They were sitting close enough to the counter that Ellen could still hear them as she put on a fresh pot of coffee, and she ducked her head, pretending not to listen.

“Seriously, Sheppard?” said the cardigan guy, Rodney. “She’s young enough to be our granddaughter.”

“I was just being friendly,” protested Sheppard. “It’s a skill most of the human race has mastered. Couple of other races, too.”

“As if I care to be included in any average population,” Rodney snorted, and Sheppard laughed.

“Oh, you’re definitely not average,” he said.

Ellen brought them two mugs of fresh coffee, and a thermal pot with more. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes,” said Sheppard, just as Rodney said, “No.”

“Yes,” Sheppard repeated. “You’re only going to dissect the menu for twenty minutes, ask if there’s citrus in _everything_ , one item at a time, then end up ordering a bacon cheeseburger, just like you’ve done at every single diner we’ve ever been to.”

“ _Is_ there citrus in everything?” Rodney asked. “Because—”

“He’s really very allergic,” Sheppard cut in, smiling at Ellen again. “So we’d really appreciate if you could make sure nothing with citrus goes into any of our food, okay? He’ll have the bacon cheeseburger, and I’ll have an everything omelet, cheese, rye toast.”

“Sure,” Ellen agreed, smiling at both of them. She’d thought there was something between them when they’d come in, but up close, their behavior was so obvious that she almost didn’t notice the rings— matching wedding rings. “Coming right up.”

They’d been together for a long time, Ellen guessed, half-watching them as she put their order in, if she judged by the way they could argue so much and hold hands the entire time. 

“Hey,” said the businessman. “Do you mind if I change the channel on the TV?”

“Sure,” said Ellen. “The controls are— Hey, wait!”

Whatever congressional committee had finished their meeting, and a new report had come on, _…of Nobel Prize winners, in Stockholm this week_ , read the crawl-text at the bottom of the screen. The camera panned across a staged photo-op of formally-dressed people, and Ellen gave a little gasp of recognition at the last two, in a sleek tuxedo and a crisp military dress uniform.

“ _M. R. McKay, physics_ ,” Ellen read. “Oh, my god!”

“Oh, hey, that’s a good shot,” said a voice, and Ellen jumped. Sheppard stood there, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. Can we get some more ketchup?”

Ellen blinked. “But he’s…” she began, looking back at their table.

“Dr. M. Rodney McKay?” Sheppard finished, grinning. “Recent winner of the Nobel Prize in physics, original Chief Scientist of the Atlantis Expedition, revolutionizer of modern science and horrible sore loser at chess?”

“ _Revolutionizer_ is not a word, Sheppard,” Rodney grumbled. “And you cheat.”

“Yes,” Sheppard agreed, easily. “By being better at chess than you.”

“You are not! You’re just… just lucky. Which is probably the only reason you haven’t gotten your skinny ass blown up by now.”

“I thought you liked my skinny ass,” said Sheppard.

Ellen smiled with them for a moment, then realized something else. “Oh, my god,” she said again. “But that means you’re General John Sheppard. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”

“They keep using the photo from when I first got promoted,” said Sheppard, running a hand through his hair. “I was still just gray then.”

“But you’re the heroes of the Pegasus Galaxy,” said Ellen. “You should be… I don’t know… at the White House, or some fancy party, or…”

“Eating tiny foods and being forced to make small talk with politicians?” said Rodney— Dr. McKay— as though that was the most horrible torture he could imagine.

“Rodney’s not really a people person,” said Sheppard, in a very fake stage whisper.

“Politicians are not exactly people,” McKay scoffed. 

“But…” Ellen said again. 

Sheppard smiled. “We don’t get back to Earth all that often,” he said. “And it’s nice to just have a nice, quiet, _real_ dinner. So, thanks.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” Ellen took the ketchup bottle he was still holding. “Then you’ll be wanting dessert?”

“Yes!” said McKay. “Whatever you have that’s chocolate. One of each.”

“Just one,” Sheppard corrected, softly, to Ellen. “But the one with the most chocolate. Add a peach pie alamode, too, but give us a minute to finish first.”

“Yes, of course,” said Ellen, smiling. “The pie is fresh, and there’s a chocolate mousse cake you might like.”

“Perfect,” said Sheppard. He took the new ketchup bottle and headed back to the booth, leaning over to add some to McKay’s fries before adding it to the last of his omelet— and leaning over again to steal a ketchup-coated fry.

“Hey!” McKay protested, smiling, and Ellen ducked back behind the counter to hide her laugh. 

She’d _definitely_ have a story to tell her civics class tomorrow!

THE END


End file.
